


Green Seas And The Golden Prince

by Nununununu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Requited Unrequited Love, Soul Bond, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: When the battle was over, the gutter born general, Marcus Damian Son of No One, rode the great charger he had stolen near to the edge of the high white cliffs above the deep green seas away from the carnage, and waited for the Golden Prince of the opposition to come to demand the precious Artifact he had claimed.
Relationships: Lowborn Male General/Warrior Prince, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green





	Green Seas And The Golden Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indefensibleselfindulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/gifts).



> An extra treat.

When the battle was over, the gutter born general, Marcus Damian Son of No One, rode the great charger he had stolen near to the edge of the high white cliffs above the deep green seas away from the carnage, and waited for the Golden Prince of the opposition to come to demand the precious Artifact he had claimed. 

It wasn’t a long wait.

There was the sound of hooves and then the Golden Prince was riding neatly between the slender white birches that grew between the battlefield and the cliffs, blood still fresh on his shining metal bracers and a smear of it darkening the glowing brown skin of one cheek. The bright burnished hair the Prince was so famed for was sweat damp at his temples, fraying from the twists of his warrior plait, and the superbly tailored jade tunic and close-cut trousers he wore beneath his armour were mud-stained, but compared to the sight Marcus was aware he must make himself, the Prince appeared startlingly untouched – and, as ever, untouchable and serene.

He did not launch into fury at the sight of Marcus upon the fallen High King’s great horse, and nor did he draw his beautifully wrought silver sword and slay him as befitted the crimes his gutter born enemy had committed. Neither did the Prince leap into cursing this ill-bred, unkempt upstart who surely must have bribed or fucked his way into a ranking, as most of Marcus’ own superiors – when they had been among the living – regularly claimed.

Instead Sébastien gave Marcus the long, cool, indecipherable dark-eyed look he was as well known for as his position and his appearance, and then slid gracefully off the back of his flawless destrier, placing a hand simply upon its neck for a moment, his gaze unchanging upon Marcus.

And then Sébastien took three steps forwards, equally simply, and folded down to his knees.

“ _Prince_ ,” Marcus said before he intended to, aghast, and dismounted himself, commanding the dead King’s great horse to ride alongside the Prince’s destrier through the birch trees to the place where Gregory, Marcus’ second in command and the only other person Marcus trusted, would see they were tended to carefully, while waiting for his General to come back.

“Even I have heard the rumours of our enemy general the _Beast Talker_ ,” Sébastien said, although he did not rise from his knees, “I did not believe them until now.”

“There is no magic to it,” Marcus was not uncouth enough to shrug his shoulders, but he did raise one slightly beneath his armour and then lower it again, “Only understanding what the animals need and what they will accept.” He could not endure the Prince kneeling before him any longer, “Will you stand, please?”

“I think not,” Sébastien gave him another long look. Marcus received the odd impression that there perhaps was an element of humour to it, buried in those dark eyes somewhere. “You have killed my father, the High King, and freed myself and his people of his tyranny. If you hadn’t leapt onto his horse and fled here the moment after the battle ended – if you were not so well known for refusing acknowledgement of your deeds – I would have had my people throw you a _parade_.”

“Prince –” Awkwardness clogged Marcus’ throat – rank had not conferred on him any form of eloquence and what language he had seemed to slip away under the Prince’s regard. 

“Be at ease, General,” Sébastien’s expression became that – an _expression_ – the look in his eyes almost too much for Marcus to bear. The gutter born general had seen the opportunity and taken it, just as he had seen the chance fairly early on to swap sides and shield the Prince with his own horse, something that had proved unnecessary as Sébastien had carved his way through the battle with breath-taking ease. And then, together, they had been unstoppable until the Prince had been waylaid by his surviving people upon the end of the fight and Marcus had peeled off to signal his trusted second to await further orders amongst the trees.

Gregory had obviously been expecting to be obliged to surrender. He too had changed sides, on seeing his general do so, but Marcus knew his second in command nonetheless was not anticipating clemency.

Thoughts of Gregory – of the horses – of the dead King – of _everything_ faded into unimportance however as Sébastien peeled off his bracers and gloves, and, shockingly, reached for Marcus – not for the precious Artifact still Marcus held between both of his own gloved hands, but instead reached for Marcus himself, two of Sébastien’s fingers touching the knuckles of Marcus’ left hand through a rip in the material.

The touch was electrifying.

“Oh –” Sébastien breathed and Marcus must have made some sort of noise also, as he saw the Prince’s dark eyes flare in acknowledgement, although he couldn’t hear his own voice above the pounding of blood in his ears.

_Prince,_ He was thinking fervently, longingly, despite this, _My Prince –_ as if he had always fought upon and at Sébastien’s side, and not merely for a day.

“General,” Sébastien was saying – or mouthing, as Marcus could no longer hear him either, “ _Marcus_ –” and the Prince’s hands were moving, or Marcus’ were, or they both were –

Moving around the precious Artifact Marcus held –

And then they were both holding it, Sébastien’s warm brown fingers overlapping Marcus’ fingers as if they had planned it, and the Artifact was glowing, it was _glowing_ –

“ _Ah_ –!” Marcus gasped as something seemed to _wrench_ inside him, a vital part of him seeming to endeavour to tear itself out of him, straining towards the Prince.

“ _Hah –_ ” Judging by the stunned amazement Marcus was certain he could – stunningly – see on the Prince’s face, a perfect mirror to the emotions Marcus himself felt, Sébastien was quite possibly experiencing the same sensation.

“Oh – oh, _Sébastien_ –”

“ _M-Marcus_ –”

They were kissing before Marcus knew what they were doing, before the strange glow of the Artifact and wrenching sensation had faded, before he could register that the former was now crushed between their chests, before his conscious mind caught up with the fact he had leaned over and into Sébastien above it or that Sébastien had leaned over and into him, or both.

Sébastien’s mouth was hot and hard on his own, and it was _perfect_. Marcus kissed back just as hard, let the black hair of his short beard scrape that golden skin and felt the Prince stifle a moan.

Sébastien kissed like he was starved for it, like he had watched Marcus as intently and desperately across enemy lines as often as Marcus had watched him, like he didn’t realise he was completely, totally and devastatingly out of Marcus’ league.

Marcus would have done far more than abandon his own side to fight at the Prince’s and kill the High King had the opportunity presented itself. Had he and Sébastien not worked so effortlessly together to clear the battlefield, Marcus would have burned the world down for the other man.

“Mm – please – _please_ –” As Sébastien pressed ever closer and seemed to seek to crawl right inside Marcus, Marcus started to get the impression the feeling might be mutual.

“Prince, are you – did the Artifact –” Marcus managed, while Sébastien’s long fingers wound into the black curls atop his head and the Prince guided him back, rising up over him upon the soft green grass atop the white cliffs. Below them emerald waves were crashing into the pale rocks.

“I believe it – it created a soulbond,” Sébastien was struggling for breath as well as to speak, which was wonderful, and his fingers left the Artifact to fumble with delightfully uncharacteristic clumsiness with the latches on Marcus’ armour. Fine locks of burnished gold were escaping from Sébastien’s warrior plait now to hang down over the general, curtaining the pair of them as the Prince ground his hips down against Marcus’, hissing as metal and cloth got in the way.

“Is that – should we – _hah_ – try to undo it?” Biting his lips to repress a groan, Marcus felt honour bound to suggest even as everything inside him rebelled against the very idea.

“ _No!_ ” Sébastien was sweating properly now, his cheeks enticingly flushed. The triumphant cry as he unfastened the plates obstructing their groins was something Marcus had never thought he would hear. The Prince shook his head in obvious effort however, even as he fell into rutting against Marcus and Marcus nearly lost track of the ability to understand language, let alone to think.

“Unless – unless you want to?” Sébastien was asking, sounding just as frantic and full of desperate yearning as Marcus felt, and Marcus hastily shook his head.

“No, no – I want this; _I want you_ – Sébastien, please –” Managing to fumble the Artifact down onto the grass next to them, Marcus braced a heel in the soft earth and flipped them over, aligning their cocks.

The first time was over quite quickly after that, even still dressed in the majority of their armour as they were and through their clothes.

After that things calmed somewhat, enough for Marcus to take Sébastien’s mouth again, kissing him lazily at first and then hungrily as they recovered.

“You do know that in the eyes of my people the soulbond means we are married,” Sébastien panted as he sprawled, breathtakingly rumpled and naked in the green grass as Marcus divested him of his clothes, “Are you c-certain you are content to be – _ah!_ – bound to me in such a manner?”

His voice caught halfway through as Marcus had licked a stripe up the underside of his hardening cock.

“I am certain, so long as you will have me,” Marcus vowed, and teased his tongue and lips around the weeping head as Sébastien clutched at handfuls of earth and bit his lips so not to whimper.

“I will – oh please, Marcus – I have ached for you for _years,_ my gutter born general – _of course I will_ –” 

Marcus had no other recourse but to take Sébastien’s long slender cock properly into his mouth at that, and suck.

He applied himself at this until Sébastien was red-faced and slick with fresh sweat across his neck and upper chest, and was burying his hands ever deeper in Marcus’ curls. And then Marcus slid two fingers between the Prince’s flawlessly smooth ass cheeks and into him, crooking them expertly until Sébastien gratified him with a howl.

“ _Sébastien_ –” Marcus fucked his Prince then, first with his fingers and then with his cock, while Sébastien panted, limp and pliant in the wake of his second orgasm.

“Hah – hah – Marcus my dear, I never expected you to want this too – never dared dream you would be mine – oh! More, _more_ –” Sébastien revived somewhere around halfway, clutching at Marcus and rolling them back over. Riding the general, he squeezed his internal muscles around Marcus’ cock until he was sobbing out a guttural grunt, shooting deep inside the Prince.

They were sticky and sated afterwards, although neither seemed to want to let go of the other’s hands, their fingers having wound together sometime towards the end. Marcus curled around his Prince and Sébastien tucked his head in close against him, and they listened to each other’s breath and heartbeat for a while.

“Did you mean it?” Marcus asked eventually, because he had to know.

“That I have dreamed of you, _longed_ for you as you have for me?” Sébastien’s voice was quiet – humble, almost. He smiled – he who was famed for never smiling – and dropped a closed mouth kiss on Marcus’ forehead, “Yes.”

“And you truly want this soulbond?” Marcus persisted, tense however he tried not to be, “You know I come from nothing, am no one except for my rank –”

“You are _everything_ ,” Sébastien glared at him fiercely, beautiful and lambent, “You are the person who freed my people from my father, who freed _me_. You are the one I have gazed at from across a battlefield many a time and only once fought beside, and want to stand beside for the rest of my life.”

“But _you_ are everything –” was all Marcus was able to say in protest, his throat closing over in a way he was unaccustomed to, and Sébastien kissed him in protest, and never mind that the Prince’s surviving people had no doubt overheard much of that fucking; that loyal unflinching Gregory and the two horses, still among the trees, had no doubt heard every detail –

Never mind any of that.

Sébastien was warm and willing in Marcus’ arms, the battle was won, the wind was whipping up the green water into waves below the white cliffs, and Marcus wasn’t planning on going anywhere or doing anything else aside from being with – and fucking or being fucked by – Sébastien for as long as the world would allow.

And if it didn’t allow for much longer?

Well, Marcus had already thought of a solution for that.


End file.
